


Destiny and the Damsel

by clarityhiding



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Space, Fate & Destiny, IN SPACE!, Inspired by Treasure Planet (2002), Janet Drake is a Good Mom, JayTim Week 2020, M/M, Screw Destiny, ship building, space horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24518701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Locked into a role he never wanted by forces beyond his control, Tim must trick laws as old as humanity if he ever wishes for his life be his own. Along the way, he gets some help from some cunning mother figures and a shipwright struggling with fate in his own small way.Also, SPACE.
Relationships: Kon-El | Conner Kent/Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 23
Kudos: 127
Collections: JayTimWeek





	Destiny and the Damsel

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 3 of JayTim Week, First Love | Role ~~/Robin~~ Reversal! Many, many thanks to chibi_nightowl for holding my hand, helping me brainstorm, and betaing the final work.

The lore laws ran rampant in days past, dictating destinies and shaking up more than one society. As technology progressed and people embraced knowledge over mystery, science came to the forefront, pushing aside magic with ever-growing ideas. Progress moved along at an ever-frantic pace and soon people set their sights on the stars. The skyships of the past were sleek and slender, nothing like the hulking behemoths that followed. Still, they were more than enough to allow humanity to break free of the Old World with unparalleled zeal.

They eagerly shook off the dirt of their home planet as they left it behind, a quickly dimming spark lightyears behind them. The old laws, however, were nowhere near so easy to escape.

* * *

Growing up as he had in a modern town with modern sensibilities, Tim never considered that the lore laws could ever apply to him. He did all the things that were just plain good common sense—he was kind to old beggar women, polite to animals of all sorts, and made no dealings with those from underhill—but the fact of the matter was that he just wasn't lore material. He was a firstborn son, not third, he didn't come from royalty, wasn't a tailor, a farmer, or a shepherd. His father was a merchant and his mother an artist and, by all rights, the old laws should never have given him a second glance.

Of course, as with most things when Conner was involved, laws tended to bend if not end up broken entirely.

While Tim grew up in the city, Conner grew up on a farm just outside it. He was tall and broad and while no one would ever mistake him for a milkmaid, he did see to the cows as well as quite a lot of the other chores around the farm. Still, between all these responsibilities he still always managed to find time for fun, running along the bluff with Tim to watch as the great skyships came and went from the port.

He was Tim's greatest friend, and eventually, his first love.

Falling in love with Conner felt like fate. No one else listened when Tim spoke of sailing to the stars. No one else shared his eagerness to know more about all the distant, far-off places that to them were no more than lights in the sky. Conner was always there at his side, listening and following. Tim couldn't imagine life without him, and if that wasn't love, then he wasn't sure what was.

It wasn't just him, of course. Conner felt much the same way if the times they spent lying in the fields watching the ships only to be distracted by other more pleasant activities much closer to ground were anything to go by. Indeed, the entire town thought them as good as betrothed, and so it surprised no one when Conner took it in his head to make it official.

It was a festival day, celebrating this or that—Tim was not paying attention, having eyes only for Conner as he was swept off his feet and dipped low. "I love you with every breath in my body."

Tim rolled his eyes and flicked Conner's nose. "Don't say that. Save at least a little for yourself. Living for someone else isn't fair to either of you."

"It is if the other person is you," Conner insisted. "I would give you my life if you asked me for it."

Tim laughed. "Careful. You almost sound like you're proposing."

"And if I was? Would you accept me?" Conner asked, grabbing Tim around the waist and pulling him close.

"Yes," Tim answered. Perhaps there was something to Conner's claims since it certainly felt like his own breath was being stolen. "Though isn't there usually a ring given for this sort of thing?" 

"I couldn't find one that suited you," Conner admitted, looking a little embarrassed. "But I would still get you something—" He glanced about, his eyes alighting on the slowly darkening sky. "A star! I will fetch you a star from the heavens to show the extent of my love for you!"

"What? Conner, no! Don't be a fool—if you do that, you'll—" But it was too late and Conner was already leaping away. Tim scrambled, grabbing his telescope from where it lay discarded in the grass and bringing it up even as Conner disappeared from the view of the naked eye.

Not entirely human, Conner could leap further than the average man and he put that talent to good use now. He scrambled up the nearby mountains in minutes, then leapt from the highest peak to catch the bottom of a low-hanging cloud.

Scientifically, Conner shouldn't have been able to scale a cloud any more than he could catch a star. But science never much mattered when it came to the laws that governed lore and mysteries. Laws that went into effect as soon as Conner declared his intentions in a move that Tim honestly should have seen coming a lot sooner. While Tim may be exempt from all the rules by virtue of his birth, the same could not be said of the boy he loved. The boy who, for better or worse, milked cows often enough to be considered a milkmaid, who may not be a third son but could be said to be a younger one. Who, by virtue of his less-than-human heritage, might be called a prince of sorts.

The boy who was fast reaching the very highest of the clouds and searching, stretching, reaching out towards the stars. Conner had completed a quest that normally took men far older than he months in mere minutes.

In his chest, Tim felt his heart seize. It was all too easy. No quest was this simple, this fast.

Through the lense of his telescope, he saw the exact moment Conner's fingers caught something black and unseen. The magnification was not powerful enough to discern the look on his beloved's face, but he imagined it must be one of shock and surprise as the invisible whatever sped away into the darkness, dragging Conner along with it.

Despite spending his life ensuring he steered clear of the rules that governed fate and destiny, Tim found himself forced under them through the simple act of falling in love.

* * *

The problem with being the betrothed of a questing hero was, of course, that one became a damsel in distress even if one lacked certain parts usually deemed necessary for damsel-dom.

It wasn't so bad the first month or so. Then, Tim was only too happy to lock himself away in his room and lament over his misfortune. But heartbreak rarely lasts forever and before long he was more than ready to cease moping and start _doing_.

He stumbled out of his room and down the stairs of his father's house, intent on the front door when soft voices from the sitting room caught his attention. Peeking in, he was unsurprised to see his mother and stepmother, drinking tea and chatting. The latter stopped as soon as they noticed him.

"Finally decided to rejoin the world?" his mother asked, but there was a kind smile on her face and more than a little sympathy in her tone.

"Moping won't bring Conner back," Tim said. Not that he could think of what would bring him back, beyond patience and time.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Dana said, her voice carrying just as much sympathy as his mother's. "We were beginning to worry you might get so caught up in what's expected of you that you would forget who you are."

Taking a seat opposite her, Tim shot his stepmother a confused look. "What's expected of me?"

"Tradition holds that you should of course stay home, moping and waiting for your young man's return," she explained, wrinkling her nose.

"Though as I've told Dana, you've never been one for tradition," his mother said, reaching out to pat his knee. "It's quite gratifying to see I'm right."

Tim felt his gut twist at their words. He came downstairs so intent on the vague idea of being more proactive about his situation that he forgot the circumstances that surrounded it. "Conner embarked on a quest for a star. I'm subject to the lore laws."

"True," his mother agreed. "But I'll thank you to remember that everyone else is as well."

Dana smiled at him. "Destiny may try and tell you what you can and can't do, but it's usually in your best interests to treat all it offers with skepticism. The most rewarding fates are those we make ourselves."

It all sounded quite ominous and decidedly unlike either of them. Which made sense, Tim supposed. They were now subject to the lore laws as well and their actions limited to cryptic vaguery. Still, it was never a good idea to treat advice given during the course of a quest with anything less than honest respect, so he thanked them both before taking his leave.

It was time to see a man about a boat.

* * *

The men at the docks were far more aware and observant of the laws than Tim's mother or stepmother.

"Forget it, lad," one man said when Tim approached him regarding passage. "We all know your betrothed left questing and none of us are crazy enough to risk life and limb by breaking the laws. You're better off going home and finding something to occupy yourself while you wait."

"My cousin swore by cross-stitch when her fiancé left to defeat an ogre," one sailor called out, prompting raucous laughter from his fellows as they all turned away.

Or, well. They _nearly_ all turned away. One man lingered on, staring at Tim, his forehead furrowed in a frown.

"Well?" Tim snapped. "Don't you want to tease and harass me like your comrades?"

The man tilted his head to the side. "Aren't you Tim Drake?"

It was, of course, too much to hope that the rumors about him hadn't included his name. He sighed. "Yes, I am. What of it?"

"Isn't your father in shipping? I'd think you could get a ride on one of his fleet."

Tim had thought so too. His father's office had, in fact, been his destination when he set out into the city earlier. And then he had arrived at the door and found himself quite unable to enter. It was the first time he'd really, truly noticed the power the lore laws now had over him. "That's not possible," he said. "I find I must seek my own way, which is why I'd hoped to secure passage here."

"I suppose not everything comes easily for those born with silver spoons in their mouths," the sailor observed, settling back to look Tim up and down. Tim was about to tell him off—how dare this man judge him so harshly when he clearly knew next to nothing of his situation—when the man continued on. "You wouldn't want berth on one of these ships anyway. They're all metal, steam-powered things with no soul in their hulls."

Tim gave him a sour look. "You're one to speak. You work on the things."

"I repair them when they need it," the sailor corrected. "And only because I need to food to eat and a place to sleep."

"And what would you do, if you had no concerns about earning a livelihood?" Tim asked, curious despite himself.

"I would build ships to sail the space between the stars as my master trained me to. But he has passed on, along with any who might desire such vessels. No one wants rigged ships in this modern era and so my talents are put to ugly hulls that stink and belch." There was a passion behind his words as he spoke, a conviction that seized Tim's gut and left him feeling breathless.

Unbidden, his mothers' advice came to him, reminding him that he was not the only one subject to the old laws. _The most rewarding fates are those we make ourselves_ , Dana told him, and Tim knew what he must do.

"Not everyone has forgotten the majesty of the sailing ships," he told the man. Holding out his hand, he smiled. "If you'll let me, I'd like to commission such a ship from you. I am not wealthy myself, but I can provide you with wood and other materials as well as a small stipend while you complete the work."

"It will take some time—I am just one man," the shipwright warned even as he grasped Tim's hand in his own. "And I can only build the vessel, I cannot give it sails to fly or a heart to guide it."

"That's fine," Tim reassured him. "I can see to those. Now, please—what am I to call you?" 

"Jason. Jason Todd."

* * *

A week later, Tim was busy arranging things when there was a tentative knock on the warehouse door. Setting things aside, he strode over and let Jason in.

"Wow. I didn't think there were workshops like this left anymore," Jason said. There was obvious pleasure on his face as he glanced around, taking in the facilities.

"It's as you said. My family is in shipping. This is where my great-grandfather had his own ships built, back in the day," Tim explained. "I don't know how much of the equipment is in good repair, so please let me know if anything needs replacing."

Jason circled around the room, running his hands over workbenches, admiring steamboxes, testing the edges of the blades. Finally, he stopped in front of the large stack of wood tethered to one wall. "This looks newer than the rest."

Tim nodded. "It better. I spent most of the week hauling it here."

"Where did you find so much quality skyoak in so little time? It's hardly an easy-to-acquire resource in this day and age."

"People may not build ships from it anymore, but skyoak is still in high demand for shipping containers. It weighs next to nothing and reduces cargo weight to a fraction of what it might be otherwise. I scrounged these from the shipyard—they were used to transport boilers and the like and are too big to be reused for anything else now." He was rather proud of having thought of that—he and Conner had builty plenty of simple water-skimmers from the crates over the years, but he hadn't been sure the wood would work for more complex vessels.

"That's a fitting thing. The discards of the steam tankers being used to build a rigged ship," Jason said with a laugh.

"It'll work for this, then? It's not too short or too weak?"

"It's perfect. If all the materials you give me are of the same quality as this, your ship will be worthy of princes and kings," Jason assured him, stroking the smooth wood.

"It only needs to fly and to sail, to take me amongst the stars," Tim said, glancing away from the blinding light of Jason's joyous smile. "Nothing fancy or grand."

"If you say so," Jason said, though there was a sparkle in his eye that Tim was not entirely sure he liked.

* * *

It was not hard to pilfer this or that item from his father's warehouses when Jason required it. Indeed, Tim found that task much easier than forcing his allowance to stretch far enough to cover the stipend Jason required to survive. Before long, Tim was begging work from his father in order to earn the difference, though he loathed the droning monotony of balancing accounts no matter the talent he had for it.

In the evenings, he went digging through the attics of his home, admiring and discarding curiosities as he came across them. He delved ever deeper in search of the item he knew to be in there somewhere, a treasure his father's father had once told him of, something found in the old man's youth and rarer than gold even now.

Between it all, he read and he studied, perfecting knowledge gained over a lifetime spent fascinated by ships and stars and the mysteries of both. When the ship was finished, he would need to be able to sail it, for the lore laws would certainly not allow him to hire someone to do it for him.

"Don't forget," Jason reminded him when he stopped by the warehouse, "even the finest ship can't fly with neither sails nor heart."

"I'm working on it," Tim assured him. "Stop worrying."

He took to bringing his tomes on stars and the art of sailing between them with him when he visited the warehouse, sitting on a block of wood that never failed to try and carry him off as he studied. It was a pleasure to watch Jason work. To see the way he smoothed and shaped the wood, slowly bending straight planks into gentle curves, beautiful in their simplicity.

"Are you just going to sit there all day, watching?" Jason teased, his eyes dancing with some private joke. "Never lifting a hand to work a real man's job?"

"I work hard to earn the money needed to pay your wages," Tim protested. "And anyway, I have no talent for such crafts. I'd probably ruin any wood I tried to bend."

"There's maybe some truth to that. But just because you can't bend a board doesn't mean you can't help me build. Come over here, I'll show you how to drill a hole. After, you can learn how to place a peg."

So it was that Tim read less and less, and his fingers grew rough and calloused from hard labor. The work was grueling, requiring concentration and patience, but he found he didn't mind as long as he had a teacher of equal patience to guide him through it.

* * *

It took time, but after several months Tim's careful searching at last paid off, and he was finally able to bring his grandfather's treasure to the warehouse.

"What's that?" Jason asked, marveling at the large, black stone as Tim carefully removed it from his satchel, setting it on the workbench between them.

Feeling more than a little proud of himself, Tim raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. "What, haven't you ever seen a ship-heart before?"

"Of course, and they are complicated, wiry affairs—nothing like _that_."

"For someone who professes to be an expert on rigged ships, I see you still have a bit to learn. The wire things are man-made ship-hearts. This is a natural one—a meteorite that has a memory of the cosmos tangled up inside it," Tim explained. "It just needs a power source and a screen, and then you have star charts, navigation, and life support all rolled into one."

"I thought natural ship-hearts were fairy tales," Jason admitted, cautiously poking at the rock. "Things of legend and lore."

"We're building a ship to seek out my betrothed, who was lost questing for a star," Tim reminded his friend. When he speaks them, the words still weigh heavy on his tongue, laden with loss and sadness, though perhaps for different reasons than before. "What are we, but things of legend and lore?"

Jason bowed his head, acknowledging the truth of Tim's words. "Fair enough. Still, as handsome a heart as this is, it'll still be useless in a ship without sails."

"As you've reminded me more than once. Don't worry—I plan to tackle those next."

* * *

The loom was wide and tall, and so intimidating Tim almost immediately regretted asking for the loan of it instead of simply using it in his mother's house.

"Do not be silly, my love," his mother assured him as they watched workmen carefully load the device onto a cart. "The sails should woven in the presence of the ship destined to wear them. So has it always been."

"Can I not persuade you to weave them for me?" he pleaded. She was so much more talented, more experienced than him. He had not woven on anything more than a lap loom, and even that was many years ago, when he was little more than a child. The things he made were never considered the great masterpieces his mother's work was.

"This is your task and yours alone," she told him, much as she had when he first asked her. "It's bad enough I've spun the thread for you. I cannot shoulder all your burdens, not if you wish to succeed in this."

"If you say so," he told her, for doubt still weighed heavy on his heart even as he climbed up to guide the horse.

"Don't worry so. You may have your great-grandfather's spirit of adventure, but you have your great-grandmother's fingers. Deft and quick, full of artistry and precision. They will weave strong sails and plot clear courses, just as hers once did."

Bending down, he allowed her to kiss his cheek. "Will you see me off, when the ship is ready to take flight?"

She sighed and squeezed his hand in hers. "Would that I could. I think you will find that, when the time comes, destiny will have other plans for you than something so simple and straightforward as a send-off party." Then she smacked the horse's rump, sending him on his way before he could question her further.

* * *

Jason raised his eyebrows but kept his comments to himself when he unloaded the loom and helped Tim carry it to a corner of the warehouse. "So now you take up women's work just as the sailors told you to."

"Weaving is not just for women any more than ship building is just for men," Tim scolded him. "Yes, I learned how from my mother and this is her loom, but that's because she comes from a long line of weavers, just as my father comes from merchant stock."

"A lot of people who would say otherwise."

"Well, those people should learn to mind their own business instead of passing unnecessary judgement on things that are none of their business," Tim snapped, pulling a skein of thread from a basket and beginning the laborious task of threading the loom.

"Sailcloth must be close and tight, smooth and without blemish or knot," Jason said as he watched Tim work. "Made of spun sunsilk, strong and clean and able to both lift the ship and power it."

"I know, I know," Tim assured him. "This isn't the first vessel I've woven for." He focused on his weaving after that—Jason need not know his past attempts never carried a ship larger than his palm.

* * *

In order to make use of daylight hours which were best suited for weaving, Tim had to shift the time he spent on his father's accounts to the evening. The work did not lessen simply because of his change in practice, and he found himself staying up until the wee up hours to finish it all. This left him to enjoy only the briefest of naps before forcing himself out of bed and across to town to spend another day bent over the towering loom.

The amazing thing was that it took a whole five days before Jason was shaking him awake. "What is it? Do you need more materials?" Tim asked, blearily wiping sleep from his eyes as he tried to recall both where he was and what he was doing.

"No, but I wouldn't mind a better partner. Maybe one who isn't half-dead with exhaustion," Jason told him, though the worried look on his face belied his joking words.

"Don't be silly, I'm fine. I was simply resting my eyes," Tim insisted, half-heartedly trying to brush off his employee's concern.

"You've been resting your eyes for the past hour. I would have let you rest them longer since they clearly need it, but that position cannot possibly be good for your poor back. If you're going to sleep, at least do it someplace sensible." Jason gestured to the corner where he had set up a simple cot some months back.

Tim shook his head and, with somewhat sluggish hands, took up his shuttle once more. "I can't. There sails to weave, or else your ship will never fly."

"Your ship," Jason gently corrected, then reached down to take the shuttle from him. "And it won't fly for very long with sails as sloppily made as these."

With some confusion, Tim leaned back to look at the loom and was shocked to see just how right the other man was. Where the cloth started out smooth and unblemished, it gradually devolved into a sort of drunken combination of tight and loose. Clearly, his body was not the only thing suffering as a result of his current situation. He could only wonder how many mistakes he was making in his nightly calculations as well. In trying to do too much, he had wasted an entire week's worth of work on both jobs, since it now would all have to be reviewed or redone or both.

"I can't do this," Tim lamented, slumping in his seat. "I have to work at night so there's money to pay your wages, but the weaving also needs doing during the day. It's impossible to do both, not with any hope of success."

"I'd tell you to abandon one duty in favor of the other, but I can't deny the ship's need for sails, nor can I work without pay. I am, after all, quite fond of having food to eat and a bed to sleep in."

Tim sighed, turning his head to give his friend a sympathetic look. "Perhaps it's as my father claimed. This task is a pointless one, something I never should have attempted. The lore laws work against me, pressuring me to stay home, to wait and let others' whims determine my fate."

Tim slowly rose to his feet, and Jason stepped aside to make room for him. "I didn't think you were the type to so quickly abandon your dreams."

"More like wistful hopes than dreams," Tim argued. He stumbled slightly, but before he could fall, Jason caught him. His broad arm fit easily around Tim's waist in a way he had always thought only Conner's could, and fought down the way his heart seemed to pick up speed at the closeness between them. "I was a fool to think I could fight the old laws."

"You have this idea that you have to fight against forces that would make you an ornamental fixture in someone else's life. Why not instead make yourself the hero of your own story and make those same forces work in your favor?" Jason asked as he helped Tim to the cot, never once loosening his hold.

"I was too slow and now I'm stuck in the role that was forced on me. I can't change my own fate, just hope to become part of someone else's," Tim told him. "I don't want this ship for me, but for another. Someone whose circumstances make him an ideal hero in accordance to the old laws."

Jason shook his head, clearly not comprehending. "What? Why commission a ship you can't even use? Weren't you the one looking for a way off this planet by any means possible?"

Tim settled down on the cot and reached for shipwright's callused hand, clasping it between his own. "Yes, by any means possible. Jason, you are an apprentice who has lost his master, a poor boy lifted by fortune only to lose it once more. You may not be a cursed prince or a third son, but you're still the sort of person that legends are made of, the kind of hero that triumphs against all odds. I may be stuck in the role of a pawn, but by aiding you, I can maybe advance my own story in some small way."

Jason wrenched his hand away, giving Tim a queer, almost worried look. "I don't feel like a hero, and I'm definitely not on any kind of quest. I'm doing the job I was hired to do, to build a ship for a good man who has been cursed by fate and circumstance. I'm no one's savior."

"No, but at the same time yes. You're save yourself from a life half lived, from artistry wasted on soulless machinery. Unless you wanted to let all your training to be for nothing as the world passed you by."

Stepping away from the cot, Jason crossed his arms, looking more than a little perturbed. "I don't need any charity."

"And this isn't that. By helping you, I turn my own sad situation into something more. The lore wants me to spend my time on women's work as I wait for Conner to come back—so I weave. But I don't weave shirts for my missing beau or tapestries of the adventures he must be having. Instead, I weave sails for a ship that will, laws willing, take me to him to correct the horrible mistake my life has become."

"You think the time we spend together a mistake?" Jason asked, his voice quavering between anger and some other feeling Tim could not place.

"No, never," he answered truthfully. "There are certainly things I wish I'd done differently, but I have never once regretted finding you at the docks."

* * *

It took many months, but finally the day came that there was no more thread to weave, no more cloth to cut, no more hems to sew. The solar sails were finished in all their scarlet glory, the gold threads woven through them sparkling in the warehouse's lanterns.

Not all the time during those months was spent on sails alone, of course. More than once Jason had tugged Tim away from his work, insisting the need of a second set of hands to help hold the wood into place as it was fastened to the frame. From the start of this venture, he possessed more than little respect for the other man's work. Having since done some of that work himself, his respect had only grown.

"Ready to take another break from your thread witchery?" Jason glanced up from where he was laying wire along the ship's edge, an easy smile on his face. It was not surprising that he should ask such a thing. More than once, Tim had volunteered his help without first being asked for it, eager to spend an hour or two in some work other than staying hunched over the loom. He had planed planks, whittled pegs, sealed hulls right alongside Jason. Though his work was not as polished as the shipwright's, it was decent enough, a true testament to the skill of his teacher.

"I wouldn't say no to a bit of variety in the day's work, though that isn't why I stopped," Tim admitted.

"No? Have you run out of thread, then?"

Tim shook his head, reaching to fold the final sail into a slightly sloppy triangle. "Nope. I don't need any more threads, nor needle either. I have finished. The sails are complete, needing only masts and rigging to hold them."

Jason sucked in a sharp breath and, for the first time in several months, Tim saw a look of unease pass across his handsome features. "Is that so? I suppose you'll be returning to your books and numbers, now."

In his chest, Tim's heart throbbed. While it certainly could not hurt to earn more money to fund this venture, he had no desire to return to doing his father's business. He had grown to love the long hours spent working alongside Jason, engaged in occasional conversation, but more often than not simply enjoying one another's company.

"No," Tim said, more than a little surprised with himself. "The ship is nearly finished, and my time would be better spent helping you, as well as making sure the ship-heart is properly programmed and connected. I don't plan to abandon you anytime soon."

"Ah, that's good. It would get too quiet around here, with just myself and the birds in the rafters. I might be tempted to name them and engage them in conversation, and then it would only be a matter of time before I lost my mind entirely."

"Well, we certainly can't have that," Tim agreed, his own smile tugging at his lips as he moved to join Jason. "This wire is for the atmosphere-containment field, yes? Look, I'll hold the spool so you can fix it in place. Four hands will make much faster work of this than two."

* * *

A week later, the sails were in place, the ship-heart connected, the view screen alight and waiting only to be told a destination so as to call up the necessary star charts. Tim stood back, eyes roving over the vessel, taking in every sloping curve, every gleaming rail. It was just as Jason had promised him at the very start—a thing of beauty and grace, the like of which had not been seen in this port in many a year.

"She's gorgeous," he whispered, half leaning into Jason. Feelings welled within him, things he wished he were able to speak aloud. But forces beyond his control drove him to muteness when he tried. As it was, it took several minutes before he finally managed a distressingly neutral, "What will you name her?"

"Name her? I'd think that honor would be yours. It's your money that built her, and she is your ship."

"My money, maybe, but it was your hands that gave her shape and form. It is only right that an artist be the one to name his masterpiece."

A shiver ran through Jason, perhaps at the gravity of the honor—though, when Tim glanced over to him, the shipwright was not looking at the ship. When their eyes met, they both quickly turned their gazes away. "Mine were not the only hands that shaped her," Jason muttered. "You're just as much the artist of this work as I am."

"What if we named her together?" Tim suggested. "I'd call her _Wing_ , since she looks ready far, far away from here." Away from his troubles and his fate, towards some better destiny and, dare he hope it, some sort of eventual freedom.

"I'd name her _Red_ , for her scarlet sails that were woven so much skill and care," Jason said, and though they still did not meet one another's eyes, his hand found Tim's and squeezed it tightly.

" _Redwing_ , then. A strong name for a solid ship," Tim decided. "So, Mr. Todd—now that this adventure is finished, can I tempt you to join me on another?"

"Another? But—"

"The old laws are strong, we made this ship together. You are a man who'd seek his fortune, if you had both means and chance. With your help, I could maybe trade one fate for another, for at least a little while."

"Sure, then," Jason said, giving Tim's hand another squeeze. "I can't argue with that. And it's probably a good idea for someone else to go with you—to keep you out of trouble, if nothing else."

Though he knew he should protest, Tim instead smiled and swung their joined hands. Soon. Soon, he would finally gain the stars he had so long dreamed of.

And just maybe he'd find Conner while he was at it.

* * *

Having secured his crew of one, it would be a simple matter to launch once the _Redwing_ was fully stocked. As it was, Tim had been gathering supplies for months—preserved foods, weapons in case of unexpected conflict, unusual trinkets that might be traded for information or supplies—as well as squirreling away what funds did not immediately go to paying Jason's wages.

Still, he could not go anywhere without first seeing to one final visit.

He was currently avoiding his father's house on the principle that he knew the man would not take kindly to his son and heir gallivanting off to adventure among the stars, so he instead sought his quarry elsewhere.

The door opened almost before Tim even knocked, and he was somehow unsurprised to see Dana there, despite this never being her home any more than it ever had been his. "Stepmother," he greeted, though he rarely called her by that title.

She smiled at him. A sweet, loving smile much like the one that had softened his father's heart after bitter divorce, no doubt making Tim's teen years infinitely easier than they might have otherwise been. "Please, come in. We've been expecting you," she said, and led him to his mother's parlor.

Janet Drake was not alone in the room when they entered, and Tim nearly doubled back, unwilling to intrude on his mother's private affairs. Then the man seated across from her looked in his direction and he froze, unsure of how to proceed, let alone respond. For her part, his mother did not even glance up, continuing to sip her tea even as Dana urged Tim to take a seat before resuming her own place beside her friend.

"Not to be rude or anything," Tim said as soon as he was seated and provided with his own cup, "but why, exactly, are you taking tea with my employee?"

"Come now, I should say he's rather more than that now." Janet's lips quirked upwards, amused by some private joke that only Dana appeared to share. In the armchair beside Tim's, Jason simply looked lost. "From what Mr. Todd has been telling us, we were under the impression you two are now friends."

"Oh, well. Yes, certainly," Tim assured her, ducking his head and taking a long drink of his own tea in an effort to avoid meeting Jason's bewildered gaze. "That would be why I'm here, actually. To tell you that I will be leaving shortly. With Jason."

"I'm sorry," Jason finally said. "A summons was delivered to the warehouse and I answered it. I didn't realize it was from your mother."

"Mothers," Tim corrected, because he did not doubt that Dana had just as much a hand in this as Janet, though her nature was generally less inclined towards cunning. "And it is I who should be apologizing for them—they like to stick their noses in places they don't belong."

"Oh, don't be like that. Worrying about you is part of our prerogative as your parents. Goodness knows Jack doesn't do it the proper amount or in the right way," Dana scolded. "We simply wanted to speak to your friend and ascertain his intentions before the two of you went off questing together."

Beside him, Jason choked slightly on his tea, and Tim shot him a worried glance. "It was the two of you who insisted that I attach myself to the quest of another as a way to sidestep the constrictions of the lore laws," he reminded the women.

"We offered suggestions. How you chose to interpret them is your own doing," Janet said, her expression turning into what could only be called a sly smile. "And while this may not be quite the interpretation we expected, I am certainly pleased with the outcome. Mr. Todd is an honorable man of good reputation, a worthy traveling companion for one we hold so dear."

"Maybe not the interpretation _you_ expected," Dana muttered, looking weirdly pleased with herself. "Still, it is as Janet said—we applaud your choice and, while no good mother wishes to see her child leave her behind, we do understand it is the way of all fledglings to one day spread their wings and leave the nest all on their own."

"To that end, we offer our blessing and our aid." Janet set down her cup on the table. Then she reached under the sofa to take out a sturdy box, which she passed to Tim. Lifting the lid, he was shocked to see it filled with coin and other treasures.

"This is too much! Mother, Dana—I can't possibly accept this. Not just because it is too generous a gift, but also because the laws will never allow such help to be obtained so easily."

"Easily? I don't think so, my love. My talents may lie with fiber and thread, but I am no less a witch because of that, and though her wickedness may not be of the sort generally related in tales, Dana has certainly earned the right to call herself a 'wicked' stepmother. We have set you trials, and you have overcome them. We have tested your chosen hero and he has emerged unscathed." Still smiling, his mother took his hand and squeezed it in her own. "Though our ways may be slightly unorthodox, I believe they are traditional enough that the old laws will allow this much."

Unsure how else to respond, Tim nodded dumbly, automatically squeezing her hand in return.

"Though I cannot think what tests you set me or how I managed to pass them, thank you for your kindness," Jason said, his eyes wide as he glanced between the two women. Distantly, Tim wondered if his own face looked just as shocked as his friend's. "I do not know what the future has in store for us, but I shall try my hardest to sail true and keep your son safe as long as we are together."

"Good. We could not ask for more."

"Though we do have one simple request," Janet added. "As you travel, please keep in mind what we have done here, and why. And remember that not all are so clever as we, nor as fortunate as you."

"Not all laws should be followed blindly and without question. Nor is every law worth following," Dana warned. "Sometimes the quest you embark on is not the quest you complete, but that does not make either any less deserving of a reward."

"Though I hardly expected it when I bore you, something tells me you have the potential to be and do far more than fate has planned." Tugging on the hand in hers, Janet rose to her feet, taking Tim along with her. "Now come—you have a destiny to overturn."

* * *

Three days after their unexpected meeting with Tim's mothers, long-forgotten gears turned and the roof of the warehouse broke open to the heavens. Unlike the heavy metal monstrosities that currently traveled between the stars, the _Redwing_ needed not the extra buoyancy provided by water. Once the unimpeded light of the sun hit her spread sails and the ropes mooring her skyoak hull released, she floated easily upwards, gaining speed with each passing moment.

"We have not yet decided—are you captain or am I?" Jason asked, standing beside Tim at the railing as they both stared downwards, watching the already-distant town dwindle into nothing more than far-off smudges.

"Considering the pittance I paid you for what is surely a masterwork, you have as much claim of ownership to this vessel as I, and thus just as much claim to captaincy," Tim told him, his heart already feeling lighter than it had in ages, ever since he lost sight of Conner against the inky black sky.

"One of us must still set a course, or else we will be flying blindly into nothingness and towards nowhere."

"No worries, my friend. I have already laid us a course in the ship-heart, though I must warn you that a large part of our journey will depend on solving a mystery as it will on charts and coordinates. My mother and stepmother may have high hopes for our journey, but I plan to find my betrothed and see about a promise that should have been set right years ago."

As he turned from the railing, Tim thought he saw something like hurt on Jason's face. When he glanced back to check, however, the shipwright's face was devoid of emotion as he stared off into the distance.

Doubling his resolve, Tim strode across the deck to the ship-heart, all the more determined to see the detour of his life set back on the correct course.

* * *

They traveled between stars and planets, satellites and space stations. Sometimes carrying small shipments of cargo, sometimes messages too sensitive to entrust to subspace frequencies. At each port, Tim asked after a seemingly human man, close to him in years, with a height more like Jason's, sharing both their black hair and blue eyes, and inexplicably stronger than his build would seem to indicate. At each location, he gained nothing aside from another small errand to run, another wrong to right.

As they journeyed, they found that it was much as Dana had warned them—Tim's life was far from the only one upended by the universe's archaic notions of _destiny_ and _fate_. Having heard word of a mechanic skilled in they old ways, they docked at a space station have him upgrade their sails to be more efficient, and were told the sad tale of the mechanic's bosom friend, caught in limbo by cruel chance when the friend's fiancé was called away to fight a war on her home world.

"I didn't realize how common your situation was; of the lore laws disrupting lives and keeping people from forging their own fates," Jason commented. His muscles strained as he held a sail taut so that Tim might thread through one of the special filaments they purchased from the mechanic.

"There's a reason I spent most of my life doing everything I could to avoid their notice," Tim reminded him, hands moving quickly as he patched in the new addition. "The tales champion the laws, talk of how they allowed humankind to achieve great accomplishments that might never have been realized otherwise, but they're often silent when it comes to the voice or fate of those the heroes save."

"Is your current quest for your missing love or to reclaim your stolen independence?"

"Why choose when both can be achieved through a single goal?" Tucking the end of the filament in, Tim stepped backwards to stare up at Jason in his precarious position. "And don't forget—you're the one who's questing. I'm just another tool to aid your journey, no different than my mothers' chest of riches."

"You're no man's tool," Jason growled, swinging through the rigging like nothing so much as a monkey. "You are my friend and partner in this adventure, and I won't have anyone saying otherwise."

"I don't think you can beat intrinsic laws of the universe into releasing their grip on me. Though it's sweet of you to try," Tim told him, prompting a blush from Jason. "Don't worry about me—I'm dealing with the trouble in my own way, and in the meantime we have all the stars ahead of us."

* * *

They were in space for several months before at long last there was a whisper of a too-strong mystery man whose feet did not quite touch the ground. "Tell me more," Tim demanded, plying the speaker of the rumor with coin and a willing ear. "You say he was as tall and broad as my friend here, with eyes like the sky and almost unearthly glow about him?"

"Aye, not that I do not hold such things against any person. We aren't responsible for the company our forebearers chose to keep," said the man, and no wonder that he did; with green skin and too-sharp teeth, he could hardly be completely human himself. "Though I cannot speak on the color of the stranger's eyes, for he wore a mask that hid them. His companion had blue eyes, though, if that helps you any."

"Companion?" Jason demanded, crowding in close from behind Tim and fixing the man with a piercing look. "He did not travel alone?"

"Nay. He had with him a young lady, just as strong as he, and while her feet touched the floor, her hair was full of stars. They passed through some time back, though no ship brought them and they did not book passage before leaving. A queer pair, unlike most we see come through here. He was normal enough, aside from the mask and the floating, but she treated all she encountered as some strange new mystery, a puzzle she had yet to solve."

Tim froze in place, his glass halfway to his lips. "Oh. You don't say."

"It was a day or two after they left that a ship came through talking of an outlaw, traveling the shipping routes like some highwayman out of legend," the man continued, not that Tim paid him much mind.

How could he, after all, when he had at long last come face to face with an explanation for what had stolen Conner away, all those years ago.

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jason asked later, back on the _Redwing_ , the space station and its talkative bartender already diminishing behind them.

"About what?"

"You just learned your lover has not only turned to crime, but also taken up with someone else. Neither can be easy to deal with."

Tim tilted his head to the side, more than a little confused by the question. "Well, for one thing, Conner is my betrothed, not my lover—don't argue, there's a definite difference between the two. Secondly, his nature is such that I doubt he's the villain the rumors make him out as, since he's far more likely to take to heroics than to banditry. Finally, if that woman is what I suspect her to be, I really doubt she's anything so simple as a conquest."

"Wait, what do you mean? What do you think she is?" Jason demanded, his face a unlikely combination of anger and confusion.

"I may have spent my life avoiding the binding nature of the lore laws, but I haven't shunned the tales they create. Conner touched the sky, and it swallowed him up. Now, he travels without ship, in the company of a woman whose hair is made of stars and is unfamiliar with simple conveniences," Tim patiently explained. "Thus, you can understand that I am more forgiving of his actions than I may have once been, knowing that his absence has not been all of his own free will."

"I'm sorry, but that sounds nothing like an explanation and everything like excuses being made for a man who abandoned you for the first pretty woman he found," Jason snapped, righteous indignation overtaking his earlier uncertainty.

"Don't you understand?" Tim asked, laying a gentling hand on the shipwright's arm. "The person Conner's with—she isn't a woman. She's a voidsteed. A wild creature of the vacuum, native to no planet and traveling without care or worry, from one end of the universe to another. Conner failure to return isn't because of thoughtlessness or distraction, but because he was kidnapped, dragged away from a straightforward quest through no fault of his own."

"Pure fantasy." Jason yanked his arm away, his face dark with rage. "You'll make any excuse for his selfishness, will forgive his slights and transfer the blame to sailors' tall tales—anything to deny that the man you have given your heart to is undeserving of so precious a prize!"

"Once again—betrothed and lover are two very different words," Tim replied, his steely, his eyes cold. "I would ask you not to judge the man I have given my heart to so harshly, for you clearly do not know of whom you speak."

Turning, he strode away across the deck, intent on using the ship-heart to adjust their course. If voidsteeds were not just creatures of legend, perhaps there were other truths in those old tales as well. Truths that could well serve him now, when reaching his end goal was quickly becoming just as crucial as the journey to get there.

* * *

They do not speak of their argument, though Tim knows they should. To apologize and smooth any ruffled feathers, sort out any differences if nothing else. To try and explain himself and his outburst, though he knew he was unable to speak the words he truly needed to say.

Instead, Jason refrains from speaking Conner's name, showing contriteness through an apparent interest in Tim's limited knowledge of voidsteeds and their nature. Tim, for his point, treads carefully around his friend, paying special mind to his feelings and awkward situation.

Neither of them are happy with their lot, but a solution cannot be reached as long as Tim remains trapped in the web of another's making.

All around them, the stars drifted past as they sailed onwards, though now that they were so close within his grasp, Tim found he no longer ached for them as he once did. The desire to adventure and explore remained, but the driving force behind it lessened as a weird sort of dread overtook him. Anxiousness to find Conner and bring an end to his unfortunate situation, but also a fear that once he did so, he would no longer be a part of the quest he'd attached himself to. That in finding the one thing he needed most, he might lose that which he most desired.

There was a tenseness over the ship as they both refused to speak their troubles. They danced around one another, not speaking words too painful to give voice to, not allowing feelings forbidden by a hapless combination of timing and circumstance. Jason climbed the rigging, seeking some sort of privacy on a vessel so small there could be none, while Tim sequestered himself with the ship-heart, begging the artifact to give up its secrets so that he might reach their quarry that much sooner.

As they traveled farther and farther, they heard rumors of the black-masked bandit and his flaxen companion with more and more frequency. Often, no mention was made of the woman, and, much to Tim's delight and Jason's consternation, there was instead talk of a steed of blackness and starlight, so much like the dark of space that it seemed one with it until it moved, and then it sped away so quickly that few were sure of what it was they rightly saw.

Five months into their journey, they saw the first Wanted poster.

* * *

"Do you still doubt your betrothed has turned to a life of crime?" Jason needled, the first time they encountered one. "'Robbery, kidnapping, destruction of property,'" he read from the poster. "Hardly the activities of one so virtuous as you claim him to be."

"Conner isn't _virtuous_. He is… of good heart and in possession of a righteous soul," Tim allowed, trying to think of how best to describe his friend. "He's not the type to do stuff like that with ill-intentions. I suspect any acts of banditry he engaged in were done to help others, and those claiming victimhood are nothing more than bullies well-deserving of their misfortune."

"You still insist on excusing his actions when—" Jason broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind. I know better than to argue with you about this. You've made it clear that your faith is unwavering, even in the face of the worst kind of evidence."

"First and foremost, Conner is my oldest friend and one who has more than earned my loyalty. Just as you have, for all your bickering and badgering," Tim assured him, taking Jason's hand in his own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I have known Conner longer and, yes, there's an arrangement between us, but don't feel like you have to compete with him. The two of you hold very different places in my heart. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jason tried to pull his hand back with clear reluctance, but Tim held fast, not about to let him escape that easily. "It is obvious you know or at least suspect the reason behind my feelings on the matter. What I don't understand is why you insist on torturing me so while you continue to profess our friendship."

"If some force seeks to torture you on this matter, it isn't me. Trust me when I tell you I would do all that I could to prevent any cruelty from happening to you, where such a thing in my power," Tim whispered, wanting nothing more than to draw him close and offer reassurance of his sincerity, if only he were able.

Eyes grown wide with apparent understanding, Jason whirled on him. "Wait, do you mean—?"

"Come," Tim said loudly. "I think it's time we put some sort of plan into action. We'll get nowhere, constantly trailing behind and gathering stories of past exploits. It seems to me that our next step is to bring the hunted to the hunter."

With obvious reluctance, Jason schooled his expression to careful indifference. "Oh? And how do you propose to do that?"

"By setting a trap, of course. Jason, you know I have only the highest regard for you. That said—how do you feel about engaging in a bit of kidnapping and slavery?"

* * *

Before leaving their next stopping point, Jason put out the word that rather than his willing partner, Tim was his prisoner, forcibly abducted and absconded with, bound for parts unknown once his captor grew tired of him.

"I don't see why I have to be the scoundrel in your scheme," Jason complained when they took sail once more, certain their fiction was circulating and sure to be passed on to other travelers. "You're just as capable as me of kidnapping and villainy."

"Because you're a stranger to Conner. There's a chance he may recognize someone's description of me and see the ruse for what it is," Tim patiently explained, not for the first time. "Besides, this is easier for others to believe, since the laws have already categorized me a damsel. It's only in the very rarest of stories that the damsel is also the antagonist."

"Medea," Jason supplied.

"Trust you to remember that one. But don't worry—though we're bound by the laws, I don't think we're entwined _that_ thoroughly."

"I'm not the one who should be worried, if we were truly so bound. It wasn't Jason who was the ill-treated one in that romance." Reaching out, Jason caught Tim's hand in his own. "Are you sure this is a risk worth taking? Is the reward truly as great as you think?"

"Yes," he said, turning his hand to cup Jason's cheek. "It is. Trust me."

Despite multiple repeats of their masquerade in various space ports, it still took the unnamed highwayman nearly three weeks to catch up with the _Redwing_.

There was a great clattering of hooves and a neigh that sent a shiver down Tim's spine with the way it reverberated through his skull in a way no normal horse's cry ever could. Astride the beast, a masked man brandished a sword, its blade glinting in the red-gold glow of the ship's sails.

"I have come to free a prize that is not rightly yours! Reveal it now, and no blood need be shed."

"Oh, pretty words for a man who runs from his responsibilities," Jason countered, apparently forgetting the plan in the heat of the moment. "He is no one's prize but his own and if you think I will allow you to take him simply to save my own skin, you are sorely mistaken."

Emerging from his hiding spot in the cabin, Tim raised his hands, trying to mitigate the situation. " _Please_ , this isn't necessary—"

"Wait—what?" Still astride the steed, the highwayman whirled around to face Tim. A look of recognition passed over his face, confirming his identity once and for all. "Ti—uh, I mean. Are you alright, sir? There's no need to worry any longer, I'm here to rescue you from this villain."

"The last thing I need right now is a rescue—at least, I don't need one from Jason," Tim reassured him. "I could very much do with one from you, though."

"But I don't—I haven't done anything to you!"

"That, Conner, is where you are most certainly wrong."

The voidsteed shifted restlessly, and the stars in its coat blazed with an otherworldly light as it whickered.

Sensing his mount's unease, the highwayman—Conner—dismounted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You trapped him with your silly star quest," Jason growled, taking a threatening step forward.

"Conner has never forced anyone into anything," a female voice rang out across the deck. Though he knew to expect it, it was still more than a little disconcerting to see the imposing form of a female warrior where only moments before there stood a steed of star-shot midnight.

Sparing her a nervous glance, Tim quickly made his way over to Jason, grabbing his arm before he could do anything more idiotic than he already had. "Not intentionally, no. But we swore an oath to one another when we were young and foolish, and while Conner may be free to leave that oath behind and live his life unfettered by its trappings, I am not nearly so lucky. My fate is bound to his, and will remain so until he sees fit to release me."

Across the deck, his betrothed stepped forward, pulling the mask free from his face. "I don't… What oath did we swear, Tim, that could still bind you after all this time?"

"Have you already forgotten how you swore to give your life for mine, once upon a time? Though it seems the lore laws thought to play a little joke on me, because it is I who has been forced to live my life for you, ever since that day."

"Conner, what does he mean?" the voidsteed demanded, rounding on her partner. "You swore you would never take possession of another the way we've seen others do—have you been lying to me all this time?"

"No, never! At least, I didn't think I had. The lore laws? But what have they to do with any of this?"

"You went questing, and left me behind, trapped in the narrative to wait for the day that you might return. I understand why your quest has grown past its initial simplicity, but the laws care not one whit for that. It has only been by attaching myself to the quest of another that I am even able to be here now," Tim explained, sliding his palm down Jason's arm to clasp their hands together.

"But it's been years—surely you don't expect me to still—! Not that I don't still care about you, but so much has happened—and Cassie—" Conner glanced over to the transformed voidsteed, clearly conflicted. "I suppose I did swear an oath. The honorable thing would be to keep it, though I must admit I never got around to fetching you a star."

"Then do so now, that we may give this unfortunate tale an ending," Tim urged, fighting to ignore the way Jason went stiff and unyielding beside him.

"You still wish that?"

"More than almost anything. Please, Conner. I have been kept waiting for far too long."

A ringing sound signaled the rapier slipping from Conner's fingers to clatter against the deck, and the man reached up, up, beyond _Redwing_ 's sails and into the black of space, plucking free a shining star and bringing it down again, holding it out to Tim. The act should have been an impossible one, but just like Conner's one-time scaling of mountains and clouds, everything became possible in the face of a hero.

Staring at the brilliant light twinkling away in Conner's palm, Tim felt his breath catch in his throat. Here it was. The promised reward he had put his life on hold for. Smiling through his tears, he reached out to curl Conner's fingers back over the gem, pushing it away. "Thank you, but no. I cannot accept your proposal, Conner. Though I appreciate the prize you've brought me, my heart belongs elsewhere and is no longer mine to give."

"Wait, that's it? You had me build you a ship, we traveled all this way, spent all this time finding this guy—just so you could turn him _down_?" Jason demanded.

"Are you complaining? Would you rather I didn't break the engagement and my fate remained tied to his instead of mine to do with as I please?" Tim asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Just—I thought… He's your lover!"

"Betrothed," Conner quickly corrected, casting a nervous glance towards Cassie, the voidsteed. " _Former_ betrothed. Completely different thing with a very different meaning than lover, though I suppose the lore laws are old enough they might not see it that way."

"Hmph. I would very much like to know everything you can tell me about these supposed 'lore laws,'" the voidsteed said. "They have no place in the universe as it currently stands, if they are so backwards as to cleave one person to an oath sworn on a whim while the other may roam free and without consequence. Something tells me that not every victim is so lucky as to find a loophole that allows them to break free. If such is the case, I'm sure my sisters will want to lend aid."

"Actually," Jason chanced, wrapping an arm around Tim's waist and pulling him in so they were flush against one another. "If that's truly a trouble you wish to look into—we can give you some names and locations."

"Jason?" Tim glanced up at the man, wondering what he had planned this time.

His love smiled down, brilliant and reassuring. "Hey, what was it your mother told us about overturning destiny? Something tells me that a whole slew of voidsteeds filled with righteous indignation don't give a damn about lore laws and the like. I am more than ready to see someone put fate in its place, and I wouldn't be surprised if a mess of legendary heroes are just the way to do it."

"Fine, I suppose." Tim barely noticed as Cassie drew Conner away and off the ship. Any other time, he would be eager to watch the transformation of a voidsteed from one form to another. Now, however, his attention was fully focused elsewhere. "But I think there's something else we should take care of first, before we run off to save the universe."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Actually," Tim said, pushing up even as he tugged Jason down. "It may just be better if I showed you."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), history fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you should not click that link.


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